


Filling the Void

by merlenhiver



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men: Apocalypse (2016) - Fandom
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Family Feels, Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Post XMA, Protectiveness, dadneto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:54:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7075912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merlenhiver/pseuds/merlenhiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles has a plan which involves Peter, Erik, and a happily-ever-after at the mansion. </p><p>Things don’t quite go the way he intended.   </p><p> </p><p>  <i>An XMA Fix-It.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this is going (yet), I just need a place to channel my XMA feels. 
> 
> A Charles/Erik & Peter-centric fix-it. Major spoilers for the movie, obviously. 
> 
> [JayEz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JayEz/pseuds/JayEz) is a marvel (lol) for telling me what worked and what didn't. Thank you, darling!

Because Charles is always the last to know about anything that’s going on at his school (despite being a psychic, and isn’t that ironic?), it’s three weeks after the mansion has been rebuilt that he finally finds out the truth about Peter and Erik.

He’s having lunch with Hank in the dining hall, watching Kurt materialize out of thin air next to Scott, when Hank casually brings up the subject of Peter.

“We’ll have to keep an eye on him,” he says, munching on a roast potato. “I know he said he’ll stick around, but he’s been growing restless. If he goes after Erik again…”

“Why would he do that?” Charles asks, distracted by the sight of Jean snickering at Scott, whose shirt is now drenched in chocolate milk thanks to Kurt’s startling arrival.

It’s good to see Jean laughing. She’d been awfully subdued after Apocalypse’s defeat, in spite – or maybe because of? – playing such a crucial part in it.

When Charles’ eyes turn back to Hank, he’s surprised to see the scientist staring at him in utter disbelief.

“What?” Charles looks over both his shoulders to make sure it’s really _him_ Hank is frowning at. “What did I say?”

“I just told you that Peter would go after Erik again.”

“Ye-es,” Charles confirms slowly. “And you were about to explain to me why on earth he would do such a ludicrous thing.”

“You mean you don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Jesus.” Hank rubs a hand over his face. “I was sure Raven told you. She told everyone.”

“I have a feeling that I’m going to get tired of asking you this very soon, but: told me _what_?”

Hank literally braces himself, clutching the edges of their table for support. “Erik, he’s…”

“Yes?”

“He’s Peter’s father.”

The fork clattering onto Charles’ plate sounds unnaturally loud in the crowded dining hall.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Erik is Peter’s father.”

“You must be mistaken.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not. I asked Peter about it myself, and he told me he found out after Washington. By then of course Erik had already disappeared, so he couldn’t confront him.”

“So Erik doesn’t know?”

“Apparently Peter’s mom never told Erik she was pregnant. They split up before he was born.”

Charles lets out a long breath. Erik had a child? A child other than Nina, whose loss had cut Erik so deeply that Charles still felt the echo of his pain from weeks ago? Even the memory of it threatens to have him in tears again.                

“You alright, Charles?” Hank asks with a concerned frown.

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Charles rallies. “Wow, that is some big news. Too bad there’s no way to tell Erik.”

Hank’s face darkens. “Even if there was, I’m not sure it would be a good idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just that he seems to be a magnet for trouble, among other things.” Hank barks out a laugh at his own joke. “He’s not what I would call an ideal father figure.”

“He did help save all our lives,” Charles says quietly.

“Yeah, maybe.” Hank heaves a sigh and doesn’t meet his eyes. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea for Peter to go after him on his own.”

“Agreed.” Charles weighs his options. “I’ll talk to Peter, see if I can get through to him.”

“Thank you.” Hank smiles at him, visibly relieved.

They spend the rest of the lunch hour discussing the latest modifications to the jet, which Hank goes into in enthusiastic detail. Charles finds his mind straying from stealth technology and high-speed engines to dwell on how, curiously, fate had once again interwoven his path with Erik’s.

*~*~*

Since _sitting Peter down_ for a chat is an exercise in futility, Charles decides to track him down after one of Raven’s training sessions. Peter has become an integral part of the X-Men, as they call themselves now, a name Charles is still a little uncomfortable with considering what they stand for. He never meant for his students to be soldiers, but the truth is that his pacifistic ideals don’t always hold against the realities of the world. It’s a hard-learned lesson for Charles, and one he’s still adjusting to.

He finds the X-Men on the grounds by the lake, where they’ve set up a rudimentary shooting range. Scott’s aim has improved tenfold in the short time he’s been here, so the trees surrounding them are relatively safe. Ororo, of course, has had her powers magnified by Apocalypse, which means she’s able to hit the bullseye without even trying. Her prowess only serves to spur Scott on, though Charles has an inkling that this might also be due to Jean watching.

Half an hour after his arrival, Raven tells the kids to wrap things up and the group disperses. Peter and Kurt are still chasing each other, apparently having some kind of contest going. It’s unclear who’s winning since Kurt has the tendency to teleport right in front of Peter, effectively slowing him down, while Peter is only visible as a blur the rest of the time.

“Cut it out!” Raven interrupts them, causing Kurt to flinch and throw her a terrified look as if afraid he was going to be punished. Charles vows to look into that boy’s history sooner rather than later – he still has to find out how he acquired the markings on his face – while Peter uses the momentary distraction to sneak up behind Kurt, grab his tail, and pull. Kurt whirls around with a hiss, a sound that more than anything reminds Charles of a lion cub trying out his first roar.

Peter seems similarly unimpressed and flashes Kurt a cheeky grin. “I win.”

“Peter!” Charles calls out before Kurt has the chance to retaliate. “A word please.” He wheels away from the shooting range, trusting Peter to follow him back up to the mansion.

“I’m not in trouble, am I?” Peter asks once he has caught up.

“Is there a reason you should be?” Charles asks, doing the thing with his eyebrows that routinely sends his students into a guilt-stricken state of nerves. It works even better now that he’s bald. The lack of hair must make him seem more menacing.

Charles doesn’t pry (too often), but he does get a kick out of seeing his students squirm and wonder if he’s inside their heads. Being a psychic has its occasional perks.

It certainly does the trick now, for Peter pales visibly and falls in step with him. Charles allows the silence to drag on for a little longer, not having to bother reading Peter’s mind to know that it’s going a mile a minute.

He finally comes to a halt in front of the mansion. The ancient satellite dish is clearly visible from this vantage point, stirring up a Pandora’s Box of memories.

“So what is it you wanted me for, Professor?” Peter asks tentatively, his patience clearly wearing thin.

Charles decides on a gentle approach. “How have you settled in, Peter?”

“Good, good. This is place is…you know, great. Awesome.” He fidgets, unused to standing still for long yet too respectful to escape the conversation.

“And how are you getting along with your fellow students? I realize many of them are a lot younger than you.”

“If this is about Kurt and me ribbing ourselves back at the training site –”

“It’s not,” Charles assures him.

“Cause we were just funning around, y’know.”

“I do.”

Charles studies Peter’s face, unable to detect any resemblance to the features he’s so familiar with.

“I just want you to know that if there’s anything you need, anything you feel like talking about, I’m here for you,” he says earnestly. “Particularly when it comes to Erik Lehnsherr.”

Peter gapes at him. It takes him a full minute to find his voice again.  

“Thank you, Professor, that’s very – I mean… I really appreciate that.”

“I’ve known Erik for a long time. We may have had our differences in the past, but I’d be more than happy to share my memories of him with you – if that’s what you want.”

“Wow.” Peter looks away, uncomfortable with the emotional U-turn the conversation has taken. “That’s really generous of you, Professor.”

“It must have hurt not to have him around growing up.” Charles doesn’t mention how much it would hurt Erik to find out he had a son he abandoned without meaning to.

“Yeah, well, shit happens,” Peter deflects, swallowing hard.

Charles decides to let him off the hook for now. “You know where to find me. Come by whenever you feel like it.”

Peter nods, staring at the empty satellite dish in the distance while Charles wheels himself back inside the school.

*~*~*

So Charles has a plan: feed Peter information about Erik – the whole truth, which lies somewhere between the press vilifying him as Magneto and Erik saving his human co-worker from being crushed under a pot of molten steel – then contact Erik (the _how_ still to be determined) and reunite father and son to live happily ever after. Preferably at the mansion with Charles.

Charles freely admits that his imagination may have run a bit wild regarding that last part, but he’s still convinced that his plan has merits. Erik needs to know that he has a son. If anything, it will help heal the wound left behind by Nina’s death, and in Charles’ book, there’s no one who deserves peace of mind more than Erik Lehnsherr. It’s what he wanted for him since the day they met.

And if Charles gets something out of it in return, so much the better.

The first part of his plan goes off without a hitch: Peter does indeed call on him, desperate for information about the man he got to know only ever-so-briefly. Charles shares as much as he dares to, from Erik’s past in Auschwitz to his dealings with Shaw and the fact that he actually tried to save Kennedy in Dallas, not murder him.

Peter laps it all up, starved for a role model that was absent his whole life. While he starts to grow more comfortable with the idea of having a father, Charles simultaneously gives some serious thought on how to actually find Erik once Peter is ready tell him the truth.

That, of course, is when it all goes to hell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your feedback and support! It helps me more than you know. :)

When Peter is taken – _again_ – Charles’ first thought is that Erik will never forgive him when he finds out.

It’s actually Jean who warns Charles about the incident long before Hank returns, looking green instead of blue and carrying an unconscious Ororo in his arms.

“What happened?!” Charles asks, aghast, since Jean’s vision wasn’t exactly big on the details.

“We were attacked,” Hank says breathlessly, setting Ororo down on one of the recliners in the study. “I managed to get Storm out. Scott and Jubilee were able to escape, but the others…”

Charles rubs a hand over his face, his heart going double speed. “Dammit! I knew I should have come with you.”

“You needed to guard the rest of the children.”

“I should never have let the others leave the school.”

“You can’t keep them locked up in here forever. They were going stir-crazy. You took every precaution you could think of.”

“And a whole lot of good it did me!”

It’s only when Hank visibly winces that Charles realizes what he just said.

“I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry, Hank. I’m sure you did everything you could to keep them safe.”

“Yeah, like you said: it wasn’t enough,” Hank says quietly, hanging his head. He looks so dejected that Charles reaches out to squeeze his arm.

“What happened?” he asks again, more gently this time.

Hank heaves a sigh. “The kids were showing Ororo round the mall, browsing through shops, eating ice cream... There’s a movie theatre and we were talking about catching the latest _Bond_ when suddenly −” He swallows. “I swear, Charles, I was watching them the whole time. I never let them out of my sight.”

“I know, Hank. Please continue.”

“The next thing I knew, I was on my back feeling like I got hit by a truck. It took me a couple of minutes to come around and when I did –” Hank breaks off, struggling for composure.

“Show me?” Charles offers.

Hank hesitates for a moment, looking apprehensive, but then he crouches down in front of Charles.

Charles brings two fingers to his temple to initiate contact. At first he can’t make out anything through the cloud of guilt that permeates Hank’s mind. Charles carefully separates the memories from the feeling, removing a fair amount of the latter in the process – there’s no reason why Hank should beat himself up over what happened.

Once the view is clearer, Charles can make out about a dozen men surrounding the kids, clad all in black with masks covering their faces. Humans, possibly military, Charles guesses, his anger rising.

It only intensifies when he watches two of the men drag the unconscious bodies of Peter and Kurt towards a van that’s parked right in front of the movie theatre. Some scattered bystanders are screaming and fleeing the scene, but other than that the parking lot is empty this time of day.

A quickly-fading energy beam suddenly cuts through Hank’s field of vision. When he turns towards the source, Charles can make out Scott taking cover behind a parked car, Jubilee beside him. She seems dazed and is obviously trying to use her powers, but nothing happens, leaving her to stare at her hands in bewilderment.

Hank finally manages to get to his feet and staggers towards their attackers, roaring as he watches Peter and Kurt being dumped in the back of the van. Charles can feel Hank trying to change into Beast, but for some reason, he remains stuck in his human form.

One of the masked men notices him approach and shouts out: “Leave the rest! We got what we came here for.”

His comrades obey and clamber into the vehicle. Charles watches with a growing feeling of horror that’s part his, part Hank’s, how the doors of the van are thrown shut. There’s one last feeble beam of red, barely powerful enough to make a dent in a nearby Volvo, before the van picks up speed and disappears down the road. Then there’s silence.

Charles carefully extricates himself from Hank, who looks even greener now that he had to relive it all.

“Why don’t you take Ororo down to the lab, see what you can do for her?” Charles suggests, knowing how important it is for Hank to feel useful, especially after having his powers taken away like this.

Hank nods, rising to his feet. “Scott and Jubilee are already there. They’re pretty shaken.”

 _As are you_ , Charles almost says, but bites his tongue. “I’ll join you shortly.”

“What are you going to do?”

“First of all, I’m going to talk to Moira. She’s been waiting outside in the entrance hall for the last ten minutes.”

“Oh.” Hank crosses the room and opens the door to let her in. They exchange a few words before Hank gathers Ororo in his arms and carries her downstairs.

The door closes with a snap, making Charles feel oddly trapped. He adjusts his wheelchair so that he’s facing Moira, who declines his offer to sit down.

“It’s good to see you,” Charles begins tentatively. “I just wish it was under better circumstances.”

“I’m still mad at you,” Moira says, arms akimbo like she always does when she’s feeling flustered. “But I’m here on business, so let’s get this over with.”

Charles sighs. He had hoped Moira would eventually forgive him for tampering with her memory, but apparently, the months since Apocalypse haven’t made much difference. She still looks amazing though, the skirt of her suit showing off her legs.

Moira none-too-carefully clears some space on the coffee table and starts spreading out files.

“We already have some idea about who we’re dealing with,” she says.

“That was quick.”

“It’s not a far leap to conclude that Colonel Stryker wasn’t satisfied with letting your people escape. He believes he’s rescuing humanity from its fatal blindness towards the mutant threat.”

“And what’s the CIA’s official stance on that?”

Moira straightens, considering him. “Let’s just say that the Apocalypse incident has changed things.”

“For the better, I hope. It was mutants who defeated him.”

“There also wouldn’t have been any trouble if it hadn’t been for mutants in the first place.”

Charles gapes at her, feeling like she just slapped him in the face.

Moira winces, pinching the bridge of her nose. “That came out wrong. You know that’s not what _I_ think, Charles. I don’t condemn an entire species based on the poor judgment of a single individual.”

“I never meant to hurt you, Moira.”

“Then you should have let me make my own choices, Charles. You didn’t trust me.”

“I thought I was doing you a favor.”

“Well, next time, ask me before violating my mind like that. No one likes to have their free will taken away.”

“If I promise to be good, will you go out with me again?”

Charles realizes he went too far even before Moira shoots him a death glare. He quickly backpedals.

“I’m sorry, that was out of line. Please, continue.”

After making sure that Charles is indeed all business now, Moira opens the topmost file.

“No one knows where Stryker disappeared to after Weapon X escaped. The research base was vacated in the aftermath. We have people stationed there and they already inspected it. It’s empty.”

“That’s one less place to worry about then,” Charles says. “We also have to assume that wherever he’s taken Peter and Kurt, Stryker will make use of the same anti-mutant technology he had access to at the research base. Which means the boys will be shielded against my powers and won’t be able to escape using theirs.”

Moira nods. “The traces of the nerve agent found at the mall certainly point to it. It attacks the mutant x-gene and acts as a temporary inhibitor. This is some advanced stuff, Charles. It must have been years in the making.”

“Well, Stryker used to be Bolivar Trask’s right-hand man,” Charles says, his anger flaring up again at the memory of the Sentinel program and the barely averted genocide. “He’s bound to have picked up a few things.”

“Which means we’ll have to locate the kids through ordinary means. No psychics. The CIA is already assembling a task force to establish Stryker’s most likely hiding spots.”

Charles rubs a hand over his face. “That could take days, weeks even. If Stryker means to experiment on Peter and Kurt –”

“It’s the best plan we’ve got. Unless you have any other ideas?”

Charles clenches his fists, his sense of helplessness increasing. If he couldn’t use his powers, what good was he for Peter and Kurt? What else did he have to offer?

Moira’s gaze softens while she watches him. “We’ll find them, Charles.”

“Let’s just hope it’s not too late by then.”

Moira sighs, gathering her files, and wordlessly squeezes his shoulder on her way out. Instead of making him feel better, the gesture only serves to remind Charles once again of Erik, and how he failed in protecting the only family his friend had left.

*~*~*

Charles keeps tossing and turning that night, unable to reach the peace of mind necessary for REM sleep. Images of Kurt and Peter are chasing each other in his head, all of them showing the boys in various states of distress. If only he could do something, _anything_ …send out the jet, send out his X-Men… _That’s what they are bloody here for, isn’t it?_

But he can’t. Without a target to aim at, the means at his disposal are useless.

Charles finally gives up on sleep and decides to try contacting the boys again, no matter that the attempt is doomed to failure. Even if he _were_ powerful enough to sift through all human and mutant minds around the globe, even if his reach _did_ extend as far as it had with the help of Apocalypse, there’s still Stryker’s anti-mutant technology to reckon with. It’s pointless, yet Charles knows he won’t find any rest until he has at least tried.

He gets out of bed, puts on a bathrobe, and wheels himself to his study. It’s always been the place where he can concentrate best.

When he passes the staircase, Charles finds himself thinking longingly of Cerebro. It would be the easiest thing in the world to search for the boys if the device hadn’t been destroyed. But Cerebro is no more and Charles hasn’t yet found it in him to sign off on its reconstruction, no matter how much Hank has been nagging him about it. It’s just too powerful a weapon to fall into the wrong hands.

In his study, Charles closes his eyes and allows a mental image of his missing students to rise up inside him: Kurt with his blue skin (a shade darker than Raven’s), tousled black hair, and intricate markings etched into his face, his pointed tail curled around him. And Peter in his favorite silver jacket and shades, sporting some kind of band T-shirt and a lopsided grin. Both of them bouncy, always on the move, and so very much _alive_.

Charles swallows. The thought that Erik might never get to know his son cuts him to the bone. Erik would be so proud of Peter and everything he’s done, from saving all their lives back in Washington to rescuing Charles’s students from certain death mere months ago.

Thinking of Erik leads Charles’ mind astray. He remembers the last time they saw each other, all enmity forgotten. It almost felt like the olden days when they’d just met and were searching for mutants together. Erik even wore a turtleneck like he used to back then, making Charles long for the time when they were still working side by side, united by the same goal…

He’s so distracted by his reminiscences that he doesn’t realize he’s let his mind wander. Once he catches on, he finds himself already far removed from the mansion. It's like he is drawn to a specific place that’s lit up in a warm, welcoming glow. Something about it feels so familiar that all Charles wants to do is delve into it. There’s a faint warning bell in his head, a whisper that tells him to be careful, but the temptation is too strong to resist.

The moment Charles makes contact, he knows it’s Erik’s mind he’s touching. Of _course_. Thinking about him had drawn his mind to Erik’s like a moth to a flame.

Charles stays quiet at first, wanting to get his bearings before letting Erik in on his presence. Erik seems to be walking through some kind of market. The place is packed with people chattering in at least four different languages. Heaps of fruit, bread, and spices are laid out in the stalls along the passageway. It’s only when Charles spots a group of men wearing yarmulkes and pointing at a sign in Hebrew that he realizes Erik must be in Israel. Jerusalem maybe, judging by the mix of locals and tourists making up the crowd.

When Charles probes deeper into Erik’s mind, he’s hit at once by a layer of grief. It’s not as fresh and raw as it was months ago when Charles contacted him with Cerebro, but it’s still palpable.

Charles waits for the wave of sympathy to pass, assuming it might not be entirely welcome, before making himself known.

_Erik?_

Erik stops right in his tracks. He looks back over his shoulder, scrutinizing the people who walk by, but comes up empty. Then it dawns on him.

_Charles?_

_It’s me, old friend._

_How can that be? I’m halfway across the globe from Westchester._

_It’s fascinating, isn’t it? Maybe some lingering effect of Apocalypse amplifying my powers._

Charles doesn’t voice his suspicion that it could also have something to do with the unique connection the two of them shared.

_Why are you here, Charles?_

‘By accident,’ Charles almost lets slip, but then he reminds himself that this is an opportunity he shouldn’t squander.

_There’s a situation back home. Two of my students have been taken. The CIA suspects military involvement._

He shows Erik parts of the conversation with Moira. To his surprise, this evokes an immediate emotional reaction in Erik before he has even heard about Stryker. It’s anger, for some reason, tinted with a hint of something that Charles can’t quite identify.

 _So it was the humans again_ , Erik sums up.

Charles heaves a sigh.

 _What do you expect_ me _to do about it?_ Erik asks. _Last I checked you didn’t exactly approve of my methods._

_I could still use your help, my friend. You have a knack for tracking down people who don’t want to be found._

There’s a long pause. _I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Charles._

_Why not?_

_Well, for one thing, I’m still a wanted man in the States. Helping you against Apocalypse wasn’t enough to wipe my record clean._

_I could put in a good word for you with the local authorities._

That elicits a laugh from Erik. _You mean you’re going to make them forget there’s a warrant on my arrest._

_You have your tricks, I have mine._

Erik is silent as he ponders the idea.

 _I don’t know, Charles. I’m still regaining my footing after everything that’s happened._ Charles receives a mental image of two graves set under an oak tree, an image he’s sure Erik didn’t mean to share.

_Please, Erik. This is important. Peter is one of the boys that were taken._

_What difference does that make?_

Charles swallows. He almost let slip the secret that’s not his to tell. Time for diversionary tactics.

_He broke you out of the Pentagon. You owe him._

Charles can tell instantly that he has gotten through to Erik. Whatever else he may be, deep down Erik cares about fair play.

There’s another pause in which Charles retracts a little to give Erik the privacy to reach his own decision.

 _If I do come back_ , Erik finally says, _I want my own bathroom at the mansion. No more fobbing me off with communal showers._

Charles smiles, his heart doing some sort of summersault. _It’s a deal. I’ll see you soon then?_

He can feel Erik’s answering grin. _Soon, Professor_ , he assures him before nudging Charles to break their connection.

When Charles opens his eyes again, he finds himself beaming at the empty room, feeling dizzy with relief and renewed hope.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, in a ~~galaxy~~ prison cell far, far away…

Waking up is a bad idea. Like, _really_ bad. It ranks right up there with seeing the look on his mother’s face after getting arrested for the first time and having his leg broken by a wannabe god.

Peter groans and rolls onto his side, taking a mental inventory of everything that’s hurting – which, as it turns out, is pretty much _everything_. His head worst of all, but there’s also a burning stripe down his back, his ass and his leg (not his right this time – small favors). The skin there feels chafed, as if somebody dragged him across the floor like a garbage bag. _Which someone probably did. Fuckers._

Thinking about whoever got him into this mess jolts Peter fully into consciousness, but opening his eyes turns out to be an even worse idea than waking up in the first place. The overhead lighting seems bright enough to flood an entire stadium and Peter winces when his skull makes an attempt to split in two.

From the glimpse he gets before his eyes automatically squeeze shut again, he seems to be in some kind of glass cage.

Also, his jeans are ruined. _Great_.

He’s smarter the next time he tries to take a look and shields his eyes against the light. The view hasn’t improved at all. He’s definitely stuck inside a glass cage (though he can’t tell at this distance if it’s real glass or just some fake plastic shit), roughly half the size of the Professor’s study.

What’s alarming is that he can make out the outline of a lab on the other side. It looks eerily similar to Hank’s with its monitors and OCD arrangement of phials on the counter, only a hundred times more sinister – probably because of the X-rays of mutant body parts adorning the walls.

Peter gulps, taking in the gruesome array of bones and claws and wings.

_O-kay. Let’s get the hell out of Dodge._

He grits his teeth against the pain in his limbs as he scrambles to his feet, preparing to make a quick exit. He scans the – _cell_ , for lack of a better word – one last time, when he realizes that he’s not alone. There’s a breathing heap of indigo blue lying in the far corner, partly covered by a red jacket that clashes horribly with its owner’s skin.  

“Kurt!” Peter calls out, rushing over and carefully poking the dude with the non-existent fashion-sense. (He really shouldn’t mind, what with Kurt being all hurt and stuff, but seriously? That jacket is a criminal offense.) “Kurt, wake up. Hey, man, you okay?”

Kurt stirs and blinks his eyes open, flinching back when he’s hit by the brightness of the lights.

“What happened?” he groans, clutching his head with one of his three-fingered claws. “Where are the others?”

“No idea.” Peter shrugs. “Looks like it’s just us.”

Kurt immediately switches into panic mode. “Where are we? Who took us? What are they going to do to us?” he asks in quick succession, his accent getting thicker by the minute.

“Relax, we’re gonna be fine,” Peter tries to appease him, wincing as he does so. He’s never been one for this shit. “They’re going to rescue us, the Professor, Mystique and the others. Hey, we’re part of the X-Men now, aren’t we? No one messes with the X-Men, bro.” 

Kurt, judging by the way he keeps anxiously examining their surroundings, has yet to be convinced. “There’s no door,” he whispers.

 _Huh_. It’s true – the see-through walls are pieced together with no apparent exit. To cap it all, the ceiling is made of glass, too. The whole thing feels like an oversized fish tank.

“What are we going to do?” Kurt asks in a shaky voice.

Peter hasn’t the faintest. The only thing he does know is that he’s not going to play sitting duck until the bad guys decide to show up and X-ray them for their collection.

“We’re getting out of here,” he says with a vengeance, ignoring Kurt’s spluttered reply.

Peter blurs out of normality and into The Zone, as he calls it – that space where he can let go and just be himself. Everyone else is so fucking _slow_ all the time. In The Zone, he can move at his speed, the way he’s meant to be. It’s his own private Idaho.

Except this time, instead of experiencing the glorious rush of acceleration, it feels like he’s running straight into a brick wall.

“Son of a _bitch_!” Peter curses, his knees hitting the floor with an audible crash, which doesn’t do either of his legs any favors.

Kurt immediately comes running and helps him back onto his feet.

“Don’t tell me,” Peter grumbles, brushing Kurt’s arm off because he’s not a fucking _invalid_. “You can’t teleport either.”

Kurt stares into space for a minute, apparently concentrating on using his powers, but nothing happens.

“I can’t get past the glass,” he says tremulously, his ears drooping.

If Peter hadn’t seen that kid in action during the battle against Apocalypse, he might be tempted to call him a wuss. But he knows that Kurt’s got it where it counts. Even if he comes across as a big cry-baby at times.

Peter’s scrambling his brains for something encouraging to say when suddenly, there’s movement on the other side of the glass. A muscle-bound hunk in a military uniform has entered the lab, with, to Peter’s dismay, an all-too-familiar face.

“ _Stryker_ ,” Peter hisses through clenched teeth.

Stryker, the sleazy asshole, grins at him. “Welcome back. And it’s still _Colonel_ Stryker to you.”

“Like I care, dude,” Peter says, more than a little pissed off. “What do you want from us?”

“From you?” Stryker laughs, crossing the tree trunks he has for arms in front of his chest. “Nothing much. Oh, I might cut open your brains to see what’s going on in there, but that’s not the main reason you’re here.”

“And what would that be?” Peter asks, clenching his fists in an effort not to try and jump the glass wall in his anger. At least they’re on eye-level this time instead of Stryker up in the gallery, lording over them like some evil dickhead mastermind.

Well, more or less eye-level, since that bastard is still a foot taller than Peter.

Stryker, meanwhile, gestures at their cell. “Isn’t it obvious? You’re bait.”

“Bait?” Kurt pipes up in a timid voice. “Bait for who?”

But Peter doesn’t need to be told. It’s the Professor, of course. Stryker has been hell-bent on getting his hands on every mutant in the country. It only makes sense for him to go after their number one guy.   

“Cut off the head and the body dies with,” Stryker muses as if reading Peter’s thoughts. “Or are you telling me Xavier is going to let two of his precious students rot in a cell?”

Peter can’t remember a time he ever felt rage like this. “If you hurt him…” he mutters through clenched teeth. “I swear, I am _so_ gonna kick your ass.”

Stryker, the bastard, actually laughs out loud at that.

“You keep telling yourself that, boy. Now, try not to get bored. You may have some time to kill until Xavier gets here. From what I hear, he’s getting on in years.”

He turns away from them, still chuckling. As he walks out of the lab he switches off the light, leaving them in total darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [JayEz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JayEz/pseuds/JayEz) and [Friendofalfonso](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Friendofalfonso/pseuds/Friendofalfonso) for their generous help with this chapter! You guys rock!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this chapter...! I had to rewrite parts of it, then lost most of what I'd written to a stupid computer problem and had to rewrite the whole thing _again_...anyway, that's why it took so long. I'll do my best to update faster next time!
> 
> A little heads up that Stryker is starting to get nasty in this chapter. It’s nothing too drastic, but I adjusted the rating to be on the safe side. I promise no permanent damage will be done to the boys. ;) 
> 
> Huge thanks to [JayEz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JayEz/pseuds/JayEz) and [Friendofalfonso](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Friendofalfonso/pseuds/Friendofalfonso) for their wonderful beta work!

****When Charles gets up the next morning, Raven is gone.

“She still has contacts in the military,” Hank ponders over breakfast. “She may be able to find Stryker faster than the CIA. It’s a good thing she’s gone after him.”

“Right,” Charles says, not buying Hank’s unaffected demeanor for one second, what with him sporting the look of an abandoned puppy to boot. Whatever’s going on between him and Raven, it clearly hasn’t progressed beyond the mutual flirting they’ve been at for years.

Charles sighs. He knows he needn’t worry about Raven – she’s more than capable of looking after herself – yet he can’t help the twinge of fear in his gut, wondering what she might be up to. _Here’s to hoping she’ll be careful._

On the plus side, having both Erik and Raven on the case exponentially increases their odds of finding the boys in time, and that’s what counts right now.

“She still could have let you know before she left,” Charles tells Hank, who avoids his eyes and starts squirming in his seat.

“Yeah, well,” he says. “It’s not as if we… I mean, she’s under no obligation to me to −”

Charles mentally berates himself for embarrassing Hank, but before he can figure out how to make it up to him, Scott appears next to their table with Jean and Ororo in tow. Neither of them looks like they got much sleep that night.

“Professor,” Scott says, clearly bracing himself for something unpleasant to say. “We need to talk to you. It’s about Peter and Kurt.”

“Of course,” Charles replies, pushing away his empty plate while Hank excuses himself to make a bolt for the lab. “What’s on your mind?”

“We want to go after them,” Jean says in a rush as though she’d been holding in the words for hours. “We know it’s dangerous, but we’re part of the X-Men now, and that means –”

“I know what it means,” Charles says, holding up a hand to stop her. “And I appreciate you coming to me with this, but we still don’t know where Peter and Kurt are being held. Without a definite location, we have no idea where to start looking for them.”

“Can’t we just do a general sweep of all military bases or something?” Scott asks, bouncing on his feet. He reminds Charles more of his brother each day. “We’ve got the jet. If we program it to scan for mutants –”

Charles shakes his head. “Stryker is too smart for that. Last time he held our people captive, it was impossible to reach them through either technology or telepathy. I’m afraid we have no choice but to wait until the CIA digs up some viable intel.” _Or Erik or Raven find them first_ , he adds in his head.

“So we’re just gonna sit around and do nothing while Kurt and Peter are in the hands of some sadistic fuckwit?” Scott practically shouts, clenching his fists. “What kind of plan is that?”

“It’s the best one we’ve got,” Charles says, forcing himself not to react to Scott’s outburst. Part of him would like nothing better than to vent some of his own frustration, but this is neither the time nor the place. “Sometimes the best strategy is to be patient and not waste valuable resources on a wild goose chase.”

There’s a pause in which Scott rams the toe of his foot into the parquet. Jean and Ororo are looking anywhere but at Charles, who can tell all too clearly how unhappy they are with his way of handling the situation.

“I know it’s hard, but try to concentrate on your classes today,” Charles says in an attempt to smooth things over. “Worrying about Peter and Kurt won’t help them in the slightest. You need to savor your strength for when we _do_ go after them.”

That has an effect at least, for the three of them seem a little less wound-up at the prospect. Jean even smiles at Charles before they all take off.

Charles watches them go with a sinking feeling. This whole 'putting his foot down' business has always been rather challenging for him. It makes Charles long for someone at his side with a bit more of an authoritative streak. The children need leeway to find their own path in life, but they also need a firm hand to establish boundaries every now and then – along with someone who's actually able to _enforce_ said boundaries.

Charles is self-reflective enough to know he's rubbish at the latter. No matter what Scott, Jean and Ororo might have said to his face, their thoughts were all too obvious: they think he's dallying, that he's wasting time twiddling his thumbs while Peter and Kurt are in danger. Charles' words didn't do much to convince them otherwise. There's no telling what they might get up to.

What the school lacks is someone to keep the children in check if need be – the yang to Charles' yin, so to speak. Charles has a very good idea whom he'd _like_ that person to be, but he immediately swats away the treacherous thought.

Erik already refused the position once. It makes no sense to dwell on what's never going to happen.

*~*~*

Despite his worry for Peter and Kurt Charles sleeps soundly that night – that is until one of the psychic alarms he set up around the school blares in his head like an overzealous klaxon. Charles almost topples out of bed as he's jolted awake.

Once he gets his bearings, he quickly scans the mansion for intruders. What he finds makes him grind his teeth in anger. It's Scott and the girls. _Of course_ they wouldn't let things lie – they tripped the alarm while breaking into the hangar, no doubt bent on doing something phenomenally stupid.

Charles is sure that they would never have dared to disobey if it had been Erik telling them off instead. One of his thunderous glares would have been enough to drive any thought of mischief from their minds. Fear can be a powerful motivator, Charles has to admit, as much as he usually disapproves of it as a teaching method.

He mentally signals Hank to apprehend the children before he tackles the task of getting out of bed and changing into something presentable. Then he wheels himself down to the lower levels of the mansion.

Hank's already there when Charles arrives in the hangar roughly ten minutes later, keeping Scott, Jean, Ororo and, to Charles' surprise, Jubilee lined up in front of the jet. Each of the students are sporting identical looks of contrition.

“I can't believe this,” Charles seethes, giving neither of them the chance to speak before he does. “You went behind my back after I explicitly told you to stay put. What were you thinking?”

“Professor, we can explain -” Jean starts, but Charles cuts her off with a vehemence that startles even himself.

“I'm not finished. I understand that you're worried for your friends; so am I. But that doesn't entitle you to abandon all reason and take matters into your own hands. Breaking school regulations is one thing, but _attempting to steal the jet_? That's outrageous! How did you even plan on getting it out of here?”

“They tricked me,” Hank says through gritted teeth, looking angrier than Charles has seen him in a while. “They got me talking about the jet while Jean stood close by and plucked the details from my mind.”

 _Clever_ , Charles almost lets slip out, but holds himself back.

“Unbelievable,” he says instead. “I expected more from you. Being part of the X-Men doesn't give you a free pass to do as you please. You're still students at this school – _my_ school.”

All four of them duck their heads, undoubtedly awaiting some kind of sentence, when Scott suddenly speaks up.

“It was my fault, Professor. I had the idea and I dragged the others into it. I'm the one who should be punished.”

“Scott, no!” Jean protests, but Charles silences her with a look.

“While that may be a noble gesture, Scott, you certainly didn't manage to break in here on your own – not without leaving some visible damage. You had help in that.”

Charles narrows his eyes at Ororo, who blushes to the roots of her shaved hair. Her fear of having to leave the school, of having squandered the chance to redeem herself after siding with Apocalypse, is so palpable that Charles can't help but feel for her.

“You're not getting expelled,” he assures her. “None of you are. But you must understand that there will be repercussions for what you've done.”

There is a series of nods.

“We're really sorry, Professor,” Jubilee chimes in, uncharacteristically subdued. “It's just, we were so worried about Peter and Kurt -”

“You should have trusted me to take care of it,” Charles says, feeling a pang of hurt when the truth in his words settles in. “You should have believed me when I told you we're doing everything in our power to get them back. Have I ever given you a reason to doubt my judgment?”

The air of misery emanating from the kids gets, if possible, even more pronounced. Jean looks close to tears.

Charles lets out a heavy sigh. He's probably made his point. “You're dismissed. And grounded until further notice.”

The four of them don't need to be told twice and quickly set off towards the exit.

“Try to get some sleep,” Charles adds quietly, watching them until the hangar door has closed again. Only then does he allow his shoulders to sag.

“This never gets any easier,” he says, dragging a weary hand over his face.

“You did well, Charles,” Hank assures him. “They need to understand they can't just ignore you whenever they please. Imagine what could have happened if they'd actually managed to take off!”

Charles shakes his head. “I'd rather not, to be honest. Two students in mortal danger are quite enough to be going on with.”

Hank grimaces, his gaze sweeping over the jet as though itching to give it a thorough checkup. “We need to re-enforce security protocols. Ororo's actually done us a favor by proving how easy it is to break in here.”

“Let's not tell her that though,” Charles says, chuckling. “It might give her the wrong idea.”

“Right,” Hank says, switching his attention from the jet back to Charles. “Why don't you head back to bed? We need to be ready in case Raven comes back with a location. I'll wrap up here, see if the kids have done any damage to the jet before I got here.”

“Thank you, Hank. I'll see you in the morning.”

Charles gives Hank's arm a pat before leaving him to his work.

As he wheels himself through the silent mansion to his room, his thoughts travel back to the conversation with his students. Having his judgment called into question hurts more than he's prepared to admit, but then, Charles hasn't mentioned it to anyone that he's in contact with Erik. All his students are able to see is the waiting, the inaction. Who can blame them for wanting to speed things up?

 _Erik, where are you?_ Charles wonders not for the first time that night. He gave his word they would find the boys in time, and he needs to deliver on that promise.

*~*~*

Peter likes Kurt, he really does. The kid’s got balls, is loyal to a fault and, to cap it all, ridiculously easy to make fun of.

That being said, if he doesn’t stop mumbling in what's probably German _right_ _this minute_ Peter’s gonna tear him a new one.

He’s been at it for _hours_ , ever since Stryker left them alone in the dark. It sounds like he’s praying, repeating the same words over and over again with little variation, like some sort of mantra. It’s enough to drive anyone up the wall.

If Peter’s mom hadn’t instilled in him a deep-rooted respect for any kind of religious practice, Peter might already have gone ballistic.

He wonders if the praying is helping Kurt. The kid certainly sounds calmer now than right after Stryker left, when he threw another tantrum because he wasn’t able to see in the dark, which is apparently part of his mutation. Quite a handy one, Peter has to say, and one he wouldn’t mind having a share in.

He’d never admit it out loud, but the constant dark is getting to him. There’s just nothing to _do_ here except sit around waiting for whatever twisted scheme Stryker is concocting in that big bulbous head of his. It’s _tedious_. Peter would give anything for a power outlet and a video game right now. Or even just a measly deck of cards.

Maybe he should give this whole praying thing a try. Problem is, he doesn’t know the first thing about it. Do you have to kneel down or what? What do you do with your hands? It’s not as if he can see Kurt right now to copy him. His mom has never been one for praying and his father… Well.

It strikes Peter that Magneto being his dad means that he himself is actually half-Jewish. Huh. There’s a thought. Not that it helps him much (other than giving him the mental image of himself in a yarmulke – he’d _so_ rock that). He has no idea if Magneto – _Lehnsherr, that’s better, Magneto makes him sound like a comic book villain_ – if Lehnsherr even practices his religion. The Professor’s history lessons didn’t cover that.

He must have made a sound for Kurt suddenly falls silent, which is actually worse than the relentless droning from before. It makes the dark seem even darker.

Peter snuggles up to the glass wall at his back and tries to concentrate on his breathing, Kurt’s tail brushing his arm every now and then.

“Are you alright?” Kurt asks out of the blue. _Heh_.

“Sure, hunky-dory,” Peter says with false cheer. “Why do you ask?”

“You were making unhappy noises.”

“No, I wasn’t!”

“It’s okay to be scared,” Kurt blunders on. “ _Only a fool feels no fear_ , as the Professor always says.”

“Yeah, well, the Prof isn’t going to be around much longer to spout pearls of wisdom if Stryker has his way.”

That shuts Kurt up. Peter feels instantly guilty about scaring the kid, but the words ‘He’ll be alright’ just won’t make it out of his mouth. The Prof is a smart cookie, sure, but who knows what Stryker has in store for him? And if he uses Kurt and him as bait…everyone knows the Professor has a self-sacrificing streak a mile wide.

“Fuck, we have to get out of here!” Peter shouts, scrambling to his feet. “Hello? Hello!” He bangs his fists against the glass wall. “Hey, is anybody listening? Let us the fuck out!”

“Peter, stop!” Kurt’s arms are suddenly around his shoulders, dragging him back from the wall. “This isn’t helping.”

“How long are they planning to keep us in here? Fuck!”

Peter wriggles out of Kurt’s grip, angry at himself for losing it like this – and in front of Kurt, of all people. He drags a hand across his face, which comes back damp with sweat.

“I’m sorry, man. I’m just not used to being cooped up like that. Well, other than in my mom’s basement. And there’s, you know, games and stuff.” _Gawd_ , how much he misses his TV.

“I understand,” Kurt says, still standing close in case Peter decides to freak out on him again. “When they took me away from the circus they locked me in a box. I couldn’t stretch out or lie down, I could barely even breathe. They kept me in there for two days. It was horrible.”

Christ. Peter heard the stories about Kurt being raised in a circus, which were disturbing enough, but this? This makes growing up without a father seem like a walk in the park.

“Do you miss it?” Peter asks. “The circus?”

Kurt takes a moment before answering. “Not really,” he admits. “I like it better here.”

There’s more to the story, Peter can tell, but he’s not sure he really wants to hear it.

Peter’s about to suggest a round of _I Spy_ just for kicks when he’s distracted by the sound of a door opening. A few seconds later, a lamp in the lab turns on – mercifully, it’s just a single bulb instead of the blinding overhead monstrosity.

When his eyes have adjusted to the light, Peter can make out a tall, bald man rummaging in one of the drawers. He’s wearing a long black cloak and is completely ignoring them.

“Hey!” Peter shouts out loud, deciding to seize the chance before it’s gone again. “The room service here sucks. How about you bring us some food, eh?”

The man slowly tilts his head and studies Peter through bulging eyes. He looks like he could be starring in a horror movie, as the Grim Reaper or something. The only thing missing is a scythe.

Next to him, Kurt gasps. “I know him,” he whispers.

“What?”

“I know that man. I’ve met him before, in Berlin.”

Before Peter has the chance to ask Kurt for details, the Reaper advances until he’s standing right in front of their cage. He raises a skeletal finger and points it at Kurt.

“Caliban remembers you. You were with _her_.”

Kurt nods. Peter shudders as the Reaper’s eyes – _is he seriously talking about himself in the third person?_ – slowly glide over to fix on him instead.

“But you – you, Caliban has never met.” He narrows his eyes, drawing in a sharp breath. “You’re the fast one. The one they call Quicksilver.”

Peter doesn’t know whether he should feel honored or creeped out that this madman recognizes him on sight. He never knew he was famous. Huh.

And then something even spookier happens: the Reaper starts to laugh, a high-pitched cackle that’s got to be the most spine-tingling sound Peter has ever heard. It’s about to make his hair curl.

Thankfully, it’s over as quickly as it began.

“You don’t look at all like your father, Caliban thinks,” the Reaper continues as if nothing happened.

Okay, now that’s taking things a step too far. “What do you know about my father?” Peter asks sharply.

The Reaper fixes him with one of his crazy glares. “Caliban knows everything there is to know about mutants. That’s why Caliban is here. To help bring them in.”

“What?”

“Caliban can sense mutants the way a fox senses its prey. No one can get past Caliban. You would do well to remember that.”

Before Peter has the chance to respond to that ominous line, there’s a harsh shout of “Caliban!” from the door that has all three of them jerk in response.

It’s Stryker, and he doesn’t seem amused.

“I told you not to interact with the prisoners,” he says, advancing on Caliban, who quickly bows his head.

“Caliban apologizes. They were being…distracting.”

“I don’t pay you to get distracted.”

“To Caliban’s knowledge, you don’t pay him at all.”

“Letting you live is payment enough, isn’t it?” Stryker smirks, showing his teeth. “Get back to work. I have business with these two.”

Caliban bows again and leaves. Peter, to his surprise, finds that he wouldn’t mind keeping the Reaper if that meant getting rid of Stryker. Pity this isn’t _Choose Your Tormentor_ _Day_.

Stryker, meanwhile, has planted himself in front of their cell and is staring at them, that disgusting smirk still plastered on his face.

“I’ve been wondering,” he says, clearly enjoying the build-up. He’s probably got a copy of _How to Be Bad: 101 Tips for the Aspiring Supervillain_ lying on his bedside table.

“You mutants have all these powers,” Stryker continues. “You can fly, appear out of thin air, run faster than a bullet... But I’ve never met a mutant who was waterproof.”

Peter gulps. He doesn’t like where this is going.

“I mean, are you? If I flooded this tank, for instance, would you drown? Or would you come up with some weird mojo that would let you breathe underwater?” Stryker shrugs. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Peter exchanges a quick glance with Kurt, whose mouth is hanging open, while Stryker struts over to a control panel embedded in the wall next to their cell. He pushes a few buttons and steps back to watch the effect.

At first, Peter can’t see anything happening. Then he realizes that a pipe, maybe ten inch in diameter, is being inserted through a hatch in the ceiling. There’s a gurgling sound and a moment later, water starts splashing through the pipe into their cell.

“Aah!” Kurt yells, jumping back to avoid getting soaked. Which is going to be a moot point pretty soon, the way things are going.

Peter’s eyes swivel away from the pipe to land on Stryker, who turns his back on them and struts out of the lab.

“What, no goodbye?” he shouts, but judging from the lack of a response, Stryker didn’t hear him.

In the meantime, water is steadily spluttering down into their cell, making a hell of a noise in the process. The soles of Peter’s trainers are already wet. _Brilliant_.

“Still think this is better than the circus?” Peter asks, scrunching up his nose at the soaky mess all around them.

Kurt just gives him a death glare and grabs the tip of his tail to keep it dry.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to everyone who left kudos, commented, subscribed to or bookmarked this story. It’s incredibly motivating to have you all on board! 
> 
> Warnings from the last chapter still apply.

Thirty-six hours after the boys were taken, there’s still no word from either Erik or Raven.

Charles spends the morning cooped up in his study, where he grades papers until he realizes he's given an A to a student who can't even spell 'X-gene'. Thankfully, Hank drops by at noon to discuss a possible detention for their late-night offenders.

They've barely gotten started when Charles senses three people approaching the mansion. Two of them Charles doesn't recognize, but the third -

“It's Moira!” he calls out and takes off for the entrance hall so fast he nearly runs her over with his wheelchair.

Moira startles, having just closed the door on the two CIA agents she brought with her, but rallies quickly. “We have a location!” she announces, her cheeks tinged pink with excitement.

Charles is so overcome with relief he has to quell the urge to kiss her. He settles for squeezing her hand in gratitude before sending Hank a telepathic message to ready the jet. Then he sets off back for his study.

“Where do you think you're going?” Moira asks, falling in step with him.

“To prepare, of course,” Charles says. “There's no time to waste.”

“You're not coming,” Moira says in a tone that brooks no argument. Bewildered, Charles stops dead and turns the chair around to face her.

“Excuse me?”

“Stryker wants you more than any other mutant on the planet. You're not going to deliver yourself into his waiting hands. The CIA can handle this.”

“I'm not going to leave my students' rescue to somebody else.”

“It's too dangerous!”

“That's for me to decide.”

“Charles, please, be reasonable.” She pauses, the color in her cheeks darkening. “I don't mean to be rude but -”

“What?”

Moira takes a deep breath. “You're not exactly suited for chasing kidnappers anymore, are you?”

White-hot anger flares up in Charles' chest even as he realizes that Moira is doing this to protect him, not hurt him. He forces himself to respond as calmly as he can.

“My body may not be up to the task, but my mind certainly is. Once you and Hank manage to disable whatever anti-mutant technology Stryker has installed, I'll be able to freeze every soldier in the building in the blink of an eye. It'll make your work a hundred times easier. I'm going with you.”

Moira sighs, her shoulders sagging. “Fine. But I'm taking two of my men to be on the safe side. I'd bring more, but the smaller the team, the better our chances of staying undetected.”

Charles nods. “Fine. I'll meet you at the jet.”

His anger hasn't fully abated once he arrives back in his study, but Charles pushes it aside to get to work instead. The first thing he does is to mentally signal Scott, Jean, Jubilee and Ororo to come see him.

All four of them jerk upon hearing his voice in their heads. Charles is aware of their racing thoughts as they make their way through the mansion, worrying what he might want them for, if they are going to be punished for last night, how much trouble they are going to be in...

The funny thing is, half an hour ago, their worries would have been justified. But things have changed, so Charles has to switch to yet another teaching method: assigning responsibility.

“Have a seat,” Charles tells the four of them once they've entered his study with a wary greeting.

They take the chairs in front of his desk in silence.

“I called you here as part of the X-men,” Charles continues, nodding at Jubilee to make it clear that includes her as well, even if she's still an applicant. “In light of what happened last night, your status needs to be reviewed.”

All four of them pale in response. Scott shifts uncomfortably in his chair while Jean frowns, clearly intent on picking up any stray thoughts he might leak.

Charles makes sure to shield his mind against Jean's so as not to give away his gambit. She, too, needs to learn her lesson first.

“I have an assignment for you that will prove if you're still worthy of being part of the X-men,” Charles says.

His students perk up in their seats.

“I have to leave the school for a while, so I need you to guard the rest of the children.” Charles pauses for a moment to let the information sink in. “I cannot emphasize enough how important a task this is. Hank is coming with me, so it'll be solely up to you to keep the students safe.”

“Where are you going, Professor?” Scott asks, eager now that he knows there's a job to be done.

“I'll be taking the jet to rescue Peter and Kurt,” Charles answers calmly.

The reaction he gets is as expected: there are immediate and loud protests of “No, Professor!” and “We have to come with you!” until Charles raises a hand to silence them.

“You knew there were going to be repercussions for what you did last night. Well, this is it. Your task is to stay behind and protect the school. I think it's safe to say that there are worse punishments.”

“But we could help you, Professor,” Jean says, looking stricken. “I'm sure if you gave us a chance -”

“That's what I'm doing here, Jean. I'm giving you the chance to put your abilities to use where they are needed most. The students will be relying on you.” He pauses to emphasize his next words. “I picked you four because I can think of no one else here I'd rather trust with their safety.”

Scott takes a deep breath as he lets the praise sink in while Ororo sits up straighter in her chair. “We will not disappoint you, Professor.”

“I'm sure you won't. Hank and I will be leaving within the hour; I'll let you know when. Good luck.”

The four leave in much better spirits than they arrived in, and Charles congratulates himself on a job well-done. He meant what he said: he's sure that Jean, Scott, Jubilee and Ororo are up to the task. The school is in safe hands.

Now all he needs to do is make sure that Peter and Kurt will be, too.

*~*~*

The whole getting drowned thing wouldn't be half as bad if the water were like, hot tub temperature instead of freezing-your-ass-off cold. Peter could swear Kurt's blue skin is getting paler, if that's even possible.

Also, the kid's teeth are chattering, which is A) annoying as hell, and B) not helping Peter's concentration in the least.

“Can you keep it down? I'm trying to get us out of here.”

“All you do is run into the wall and bump your head,” Kurt retorts, the smartass.

Okay, so maybe his plan still needs a little work. So what? It's better than standing around getting soaked to death. It's amazing how heavy a pair of jeans can get. And the water isn't even up to his junk yet. Always good to have something to look forward to.

Peter groans and lets himself sag against the glass wall. He could probably do with a break. His head is spinning like crazy, which probably has something to do with the fact that he hasn't eaten in like a day and a half.

Come to think of it, the last thing he had was a burger at the mall with Scott, Ororo and Jubilee. Huh. Feels like a lifetime ago.

Next to him, Kurt sighs loudly. “If we don't make it out of here,” he starts, because he's just a little ray of sunshine. “What will you most regret not doing?”

 _Jesus_. The kid really knows how to lighten the mood. Only he would want to have a heart-to-heart in the middle of a fucking fish tank.

“Kill me now,” Peter mumbles, quietly enough so that Kurt doesn't catch it over the splattering of the water.

He's still trying to figure out how the hell to wriggle out of the conversation when Kurt suddenly tenses, his gaze drawn to the lab outside.

“He's back.”

“Who, the Reaper?”

“No, the guy in the lab coat.”

Peter rolls his eyes. It's not enough that they have to play guinea pigs for Stryker, now they're constantly being monitored by some creepy old bald guy. Not that old bald guys are generally creepy; the Professor, bless his hairless soul, is living proof of that.

“What's he up to this time?” Peter whispers.

Kurt follows the dude's movements with his eyes. “He's making notes on his clipboard. Studies the control panel,” he says under his breath.

That gives Peter an idea. He turns around to face the guy (which, standing almost hip-deep in water, doesn't come across nearly as cool as he hoped it would) and shouts: “Hey, asshole! Since you're here anyway, how about you turn up the temperature on this thing? My beautician told me not to overdo it with the ice water.”

Bald guy never stops taking notes on his clipboard.

Peter sighs and lets himself sag back against the glass wall. It's been the same the other few times he was in here. The dude's apparently under orders from Stryker to stay silent, and other than Caliban, he actually knows how to follow them.

Mindless yes-men. They'll be the death of society. Or in this case, his and Kurt's.

Next to him, Kurt lets out a loud sneeze that makes his tail curl under water. He really does look a shade lighter than before. He's also shivering rather visibly.

Oh boy. The last thing they need is for one of them to catch pneumonia or something. Which, judging by Kurt's drowned rat look, is more than just a little bit likely. _Fan-f_ _ucking-tastic._

The time has come to take drastic measures. Peter makes a decision, breathes deeply and mentally steels himself for what he's about to say.

“If you promise not to spoil it,” he starts, wincing at his own words, “I'll let you borrow my jacket on a once-in-a-lifetime basis.”

Kurt squints at him. “How am I supposed not to spoil your jacket when the water level is rising by the minute?”

“Point,” Peter has to concede. Then he quickly pulls off his jacket before he can think better of it and throws it at Kurt's head. “I'll be wanting that back.”

Kurt looks at him for a moment with a curious expression on his face, but then he nods and puts the jacket on over his own.

That's better. At least that red eye-sore of his is halfway covered now.

“You do realize that at one point, we'll have to take off our clothes to be able to swim, don't you?” Kurt says, hugging himself tightly.

“Not a chance. I'm not getting naked in here with you!” Peter protests.

Kurt throws him a dirty look. “You'd rather drown?”

“No one's going to drown! I'm getting us out of here.” The words sound a little too much on the wrong side of desperate even to his own ears.

Kurt raises a skeptical eyebrow at him but stays mercifully quiet this time.

Peter would have loved to lay out all the options he hasn't tried yet, but the room starts spinning again, and so he has to content himself with closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall.

His next escape attempt might have to wait a little.

*~*~*

Moira's colleagues are a couple of nice chaps called Woods and Henderson, the standard well-built field agent types who've apparently seen it all: they don't even bat an eyelash when they are escorted into the hangar and shown the jet for the first time. Moira has sworn them to secrecy and Charles can tell from their minds that they plan on keeping their promise, but he's not prepared to take any risks when it comes to the jet – he fully intends to wipe their memories after the mission is over.

With Hank and Moira in the cockpit, they take off for Utah, where the boys are supposedly held in some kind of top-secret military base. Charles is strapped tightly to his wheelchair and the cabin wall. It's not often he gets to go on the jet anymore, so the acceleration takes him a little by surprise.

Once they're in the air, Hank activates what he has dubbed the “cloaking device”, a nifty piece of stealth technology that will make them invisible on all sensors. Charles passes the flight time chatting to Woods and Henderson and trying to keep his nerves at bay.

It's a couple of hours later when Hank announces: “We're just passing over Salt Lake City.”

The tension in the cabin rises noticeably. Woods and Henderson pull out their guns to give them a last-minute check, while Hank takes the jet into a slow descent. Through the front window, Charles can make out the ranges of the western Utah desert beneath them.

“I'm going to bring us down southeast of the base,” Hank says. “There's a rock formation big enough to conceal the jet once it's stationary.”

Charles gets a glimpse of said rocks next to an arrangement of nondescript buildings and hangs on tight for the landing.

The minute they're on the ground, Charles can feel it: the dampening field Stryker uses to render any kind of X-gene-related power inactive. Try as he might, Charles can't reach his telepathy anymore. It's an eerie feeling and strangely disorienting – like the time he used Hank's serum to suppress his powers. Not exactly a happy memory.

“I still can't locate Peter and Kurt,” Hank points out, frowning at the scanners.

“They're here,” Moira reassures him. “Our intel is legit. Once we've deactivated the dampening field, Charles will be able to tell us exactly where the boys are being held.”

They all unstrap themselves as Hank opens the rear door, then powers down the jet.

“Be careful,” Charles tells them, trying not to stand in the way while Moira and Hank climb towards the exit.

Moira stops when she passes Charles. “Here, take this,” she says, holding out a gun to him.

Charles, caught off-guard, glares at it. “I don't want that.”

“Just take it.”

“I won't use it.”

“For heaven's sake, Charles!” Moira bursts out. “You need to be able to defend yourself. Without your powers, you're a sitting duck in case anything goes wrong. _Please_.”

Moira's gaze is so intent that Charles can't help but take the gun from her, against his better judgment.

“Thank you,” she says with a hint of a smile, then turns to the others. “Now let's get going. We all know what's at stake here.”

Hank meets Charles' eyes and nods at him before joining Moira and the agents on their way to the base.

“Good luck,” Charles says to their retreating backs. He watches the four of them as they head towards the closest building, careful to avoid the cameras along their path.

Now all he can do is wait.

*~*~*

Being in mortal danger apparently washes up all kinds of mushy thoughts. That's got to be the reason why Peter suddenly remembers that he forgot to call his mother last weekend.

Thing is, they made a deal when he moved to the school: he would call home once a week to let his mom know he was doing okay. With Wanda already gone for a couple of years, his mom is all alone now for the first time since...well, since he was born, Peter guesses. She's not used to the house being quiet. Then there's this whole _empty nest_ thing that's supposed to be hell on mothers in general, and it all adds up to why Peter has taken real care to make good on his promise.

Except last weekend, he forgot.

It's stupid, really, to make a big deal of it – especially now, since he can't do anything about it, standing chest-deep in water at the mercy of a deranged beefcake. So he forgot to call his mom. So what? His mother knows he's safe and sound at the school.

Well, eh... except that he's not. But to be fair, that's a rather recent development.

What if his mom calls the school? What if they tell her he's missing? She'll be worried sick, and she's had quite enough on her plate recently what with the drinking making a return appearance and Wanda not talking to her anymore...

Maybe he shouldn't have moved out. Maybe that was him being selfish. And now he forgot to call, and he can't even tell her how much he...

Peter curses and bangs his fists against the glass wall. His mom needs to know that he's alright. Someone's got to tell her not to worry.

“If that was supposed to be an escape attempt, it was pretty ludicrous,” someone suddenly says.

Peter lifts his head to see Stryker entering the lab, sporting a far-too satisfied grin.

“Piss off,” Peter snarls. He's so not in the mood for a one-liner contest right now.

Stryker tuts. “Language, kid. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

It's exactly the wrong thing to say. A savage rage flares up in Peter like he has never known before. If looks could kill, Stryker would have dropped dead on the spot.

“Shut the fuck up about my mother!” he yells.

Stryker chuckles. “Aww, are we a little momma's boy? That's so cute.” He steps closer to the glass wall, staring Peter straight in the face. “What would she say if she saw you now, eh? All your flashy powers gone just like that.” He snaps his fingers. “In here, you're nothing but a dumb kid. Worthless and weak.”

Peter's ears are ringing. He's so furious he's actually starting to see white spots. His nails are digging painfully into his palms under water.

It only makes Stryker grin wider.

Peter doesn't know what would have happened if the door to the lab hadn't opened at that moment. He might have spontaneously combusted. Which, come to think of it, would have taken care of their current problems rather nicely.

As it is, the Reaper slouches into the lab, practically glowing with excitement. He's wearing some kind of clunky blinking contraption around one arm that clashes horribly with his black cloak.

“He's here!” the Reaper shouts, causing Stryker to turn around to him. “Xavier has arrived, Caliban can sense him. He only brought one other mutant.”

“Perfect,” Stryker says. “Where are they?”

“They seem to have landed southeast of the barracks.”

“Is everything ready?”

The Reaper nods.

“Then let's go.”

Stryker marches out of the lab without so much as a glance at Peter. The Reaper dawdles in his wake, ogling them and the tank for a minute before disappearing through the door.

Peter's fury has puffed out like it was never there. He feels deflated now, drained of all energy and worst of all, hope.

The Professor is here. He's come to rescue them, only to waltz right into Stryker's trap. And there's nothing Peter can do about it.

“Are you okay?” Kurt asks quietly. It's the first time he's spoken in hours.

Peter doesn't answer. No, he's not fucking o-kay. One of the few men who've ever shown him kindness is going to be captured by a sadistic mutant hater, and it's at least in part his, Peter's, fault. If he'd only gotten them out of here in time...

There's a ripple in the water as Kurt joins him next to the wall. The silver jacket he's wearing is halfway soaked by now, but Peter can't even bring himself to care.

“He's going to be fine,” Kurt says, his voice scratchy from what's probably a sore throat. “The Professor is one of the most powerful mutants on the planet. I'm sure he'll figure out a way to outwit Stryker.”

Peter nods, even if he doesn't believe it.

“Have faith,” Kurt adds.

Peter has a hunch that Kurt's going to suggest praying next, but then a coughing fit wrecks the slim blue body and abruptly ends their conversation.

*~*~*

It's the quiet that gets to him. Charles is used to the constant chattering of minds in his head, the ceaseless input of data. He spent the better part of his life training to shield himself against other people's thoughts and emotions, but now that they're actually gone, he'd give anything for the mere whisper of somebody else's mind.

The silence makes him remember the loneliness he's known in the darkest days of his life: the years before Raven came to live at the mansion, that time after Cuba when she left with Erik...

 _Erik_. All of a sudden, Charles finds himself smiling. It's hard not to think of him in here, surrounded by the metal he helped reshape after the jet had been wrecked. Parts of it could be saved from the rubble after the explosion, but the rest of it Erik rebuilt from scratch as per Hank's instructions.

It's only now that Charles notices the little details that give away Erik's hand in the design: the structure is bulkier and more massive now, yet there are also subtle details like an extra space for the wheelchair that weren't there in the earlier model.

It makes Charles feel better somehow, to know he's surrounded by Erik's work. Less alone despite the quiet in his mind.

A sudden screech from outside makes him jump, but Charles quickly identifies it as a bird's call. He lets out a sigh of relief and scoffs at himself for being so jittery.

Twenty minutes and still nothing. If only he knew what was going on inside. It's a pity they couldn't use radios for fear of being detected.

The rocks he's able to glimpse through the open rear door are bathed in a salmon-red hue.

Twenty-five minutes. A lizard with bright red spots on its back has found its way onto the ramp. It looks curiously up into the cabin, probably wondering whether it's safe to venture inside. Charles revels in the lizard's beauty for a minute, its sleek body and unique coloring, when the animal suddenly tenses and scurries back to where it came from.

A second later Charles can hear it too: footsteps.

For a wild moment, Charles thinks Moira and the others might be back already, but the footsteps sound too heavy, almost like -

Military boots. There are soldiers coming his way.

Charles' heart starts racing. His eyes swivel to the gun that lies abandoned on one of the seats. He turns his wheelchair, about to reach out and make a grab for the weapon when -

“I wouldn't do that if I were you, Professor Xavier.”

Charles jerks his head up to find five men standing just outside the hatch, machine guns trained at him and ready to shoot. Stryker isn't visibly armed, yet he marches into the cabin as though he was a bastion all by himself.

In his panic, Charles resorts to his powers on instinct - only to be thwarted once again by the dampening field. Try as he might, he can't reach the minds of any of the soldiers, much less freeze them.

He's completely helpless.

Stryker watches his realization with a smug face, then signals two of his soldiers to advance into the cabin.

“You and me are going to have a long talk now, Professor.”

*~*~*

Peter's experience in ways to go might be limited to two, but there's one thing he's sure of: drowning sucks so much more than almost having one's neck sliced open. Like, a gazillion times more.

For one thing, beheadings are over so much quicker: wham bam and you're snuffing it. Who wants their death drawn-out like a Hubba Bubba? Exactly.

Second, you don't get to overthink things when you're neatly cut open. Back when Peter fought against Apocalypse – okay, _was getting his ass kicked_ by Apocalypse, let's stick to the facts – and didn't know that crazy sword bitch was Mystique yet (cause honestly, who could ever have guessed that?) - anyhow, back then, Peter didn't have a lot of time to mull over the fact that he was going to die pretty much in the next second or two.

Instead, he had one of those weird-as-fuck near-death experiences where your whole life flashes before your eyes. Didn't take very long and wasn't terribly interesting, but that's beside the point.

When you're drowning though – when you're drowning, you have all the time in the world to think about how your life should have gone. How much of your precious time on Earth you've wasted. Just how big of a loser you really are. Who the hell needs that?

And thirdly – and this might actually be the worst – being skewered means you don't have to watch anyone else snuff it while you're dying.

They're treading water now. Standing became a non-option a while ago, so they finally had to bite the bullet and take off their slacks and trainers to be lighter. Nothing like fighting for your life in your underwear.

Peter's favorite jacket is probably decomposing at the bottom of the tank by now. His life truly _sucks_.

Speaking of which: the way things are going, they'll be worm food in less than an hour. The ceiling is maybe eight inches above their heads by now. Peter can actually _touch_ it when he raises his hand, and that's...yeah.

The worst of it, however, is watching Kurt.

The kid's clearly got a fever, if his red-rimmed eyes are anything to go by, and he's getting weaker by the minute. Peter keeps a close watch on him, but well, he's not exactly in peak shape himself right now.

He's been chatting non-stop every time Kurt's eyelids looked like they're about to droop shut. At this rate, Kurt may well pass out on purpose just so he doesn't have to listen to Peter's voice anymore.

It's another of those droopy-eyed moments and Peter is telling a story (a real zinger, if he does say so himself) about the time he cleaned out his high-school principal, when Kurt rasps: “Peter, I can't... can't...anymore.”

The kid actually swallows a mouthful of water to make his point.

“Bullshit!” Peter says. “You haven't even heard the ending! This is where it gets _really_ good.”

“Peter...”

“Don't you dare. Don't you dare bail on me. Kurt!”

Peter grabs a blue-skinned elbow just in time to keep Kurt from making a dive. Kurt splutters and coughs up even more water, then takes a huge gulp of air.

“That's it. Breathe, Kurt. That's the ticket.”

While Kurt steadies himself, Peter tries to bring his own heart rate back under control.

_Fuck, that was close._

“Tales of my high-school exploits don't cut it with you, eh?” he asks, determined to keep Kurt's attention focused on him. “Fine. You want to hear a real bombshell? Alright, I'll tell you.” He casts his mind around for another juicy story and it lands on – _oh_. Well, that's not what he...

To hell with it.

“You asked me before if there was anything I regretted not having done in my life. Remember that?”

Kurt gives a weak nod, his lips pressed tightly together so as not to swallow any more water.

“Well, there is. You listening, Kurt?”

Kurt, whose eyelids were about to go half-mast again, forcefully pries them open.

Peter has to take a moment to gather his courage. He's never been big on sharing secrets.

“Not telling my father who I am.”

“Wha...what?”

“That's what I most regret. Not telling him when I had the chance.”

Well, he's certainly got Kurt's whole attention now.

“Why didn't you?” the kid breathes.

Peter huffs. “I chickened out. Got scared all of a sudden.”

“Scared of what?”

Peter shakes his head, mulling the question over. Truth is, he doesn't even know. He remembers staring at Lehnsherr floating in that crazy magnetic bubble of his, the words ready on the tip of his tongue, and then...nothing.

Just as he's about to say so to Kurt, there's a huge _Boom!_ and the whole tank quivers as if rocked to its foundations.

It feels like an earthquake. The tremor causes some massive waves and Peter swallows quite a lot of water before he has adjusted to the swell. He hasn't let go of Kurt, who paddles frantically to keep his head above water.

The pounding doesn't stop but picks up a steady rhythm. If Peter were to guess he'd say it's coming from the direction of the lab, but he can't make anything out what with the waves growing wilder and wilder.

Suddenly, there's an enormous crash and the glass wall just _shatters_. Peter is caught up in the giant drain spilling out of the tank. He cries out in shock, swallowing another galleon of water for his stupidity, then hits the ground hard a second later. Water splashes over him until finally, all the motion stops and he finds himself lying face-first in no more than a puddle.

It takes Peter a moment to catch up with what just happened.

The tank is destroyed, he registers when he squints to have a look around. There are glass shards littering the floor, covered about an inch deep with the water that's now spread out over the whole lab. Kurt is lying on his back a few feet away, apparently out cold.

Dark spots are dancing in front of Peter's eyes. He blinks a few times, but all that he gets for his trouble is that the spots become denser and start to resemble a pair of legs.

_Wait a minute..._

He slowly raises his head to find that the legs are indeed attached to someone towering above him: a tall, stoic someone with an iron bar in his right hand.

It's his da- Lehnsherr. Fucking Lehnsherr. _What the hell -?_

Lehnsherr throws away the iron bar and crouches down, frowning at Peter with an almost concerned look on his face.

For a few moments, all Peter can do is stare at him. Then he opens his mouth, but all that comes out is: “Took you long enough.”

Peter barely has time to catch a glimpse of Lehnsherr's _what the fuck?_ expression before he's out like a light.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, [JayEz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JayEz/pseuds/JayEz) and [Friendofalfonso](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Friendofalfonso/pseuds/Friendofalfonso) were a tremendous help whipping this chapter into shape! Thank you, guys!


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